Slave to Fortune
by Evenstar
Summary: Sequel to Master and Servant(which, by the way, is going to be rewritten). Follows Harry after the last chapter of MaS
1. The Zhirak

slave01

Disclaimer: Harry and Draco and anything you recognize are JK Rowling's. Anything you don't is probably mine.  
  
This is the sequel to Master and Servant, if you haven't read that yet it might be helpful to do so although it probably isn't necessary.   
  
  
_He was walking down a dark corridor, it's stone walls arching high above him to become lost in an impenetrable gloom. It's end was also hidden to him; no matter how far he walked, his footsteps echoing dully in the stillness, he could never quite see what it led to; it just reached on and on and on into oblivion. And with every step he took his heart sank lower and became heavier within him until it was a leaden weight threatening to pull him down forever, never to rise again. Once he fell he would never be able to get up, not ever; he knew that he had to keep going.  
  
But it was so hard.   
  
And then he was suddenly in front of a door, not knowing how he had gotten there. He reached out a hand to open it when it suddenly dissolved, leaving only a black, gaping hole. Heart beating so painfully he thought it would burst, he stepped through and fell into - nothing.  
  
But someone was there, with him in the nothingness.  
  
A white-haired, silver-eyed someone, the sight of whom lifted his heart. He ran forward, stumbling slightly in his eagerness to reach him, one hand reaching out to touch his beautiful skin.  
  
  
  
He turned around, silver eyes cold, looking at him without the faintest trace of recognition. Who are you?  
  
A bolt of pain so intense it seemed to be killing him ran through his heart. He opened his mouth to speak when - _  
  
Harry woke up.  
  
He sat up slowly, wincing as sharp pains shot through his back, no doubt brought on by the uncomfortable position in which he'd slept. The air was cool and smelled like it was early morning but he couldn't see any sign of the sun - the place where he was didn't really seem to have any sky for it to be in anyhow, just a gray emptiness stretching above him into some unguessable distance. And there was no other visible source of light, but it was there. And even more confusing, the air had the distinct tang that comes only when the world has just woken up - even though the mysterious glow was actually the soft suffusing radiance of dusk rather than that of dawn.  
  
Interesting.  
  
He looked around, wondering where he could possibly be. The last thing he remembered was stumbling blindly through the Carpathians, engulfed in mist, knowing only that something had happened to Draco and that he had to find him. Until at last he'd thrown himself to the rocky ground in utter exhaustion, not caring whether he lived or died or just slept through all eternity, never to be found by anyone...  
  
It was becoming increasingly evident to him that no one would be finding him anyway. Purely and simply because he was no longer in his own world.  
  
He wasn't sure what had firmly convinced him of that fact; it was probably all of the little things. That light for one thing. And then, although he was still up in high in some mountain range it was not the Carpathians that he had come to know so well - these were more gently formed and had a certain elegant beauty that the terrain he had come from lacked: wild flowers growing in the chinks of the rock, the gleams of waterfalls cascading over cliffs, soft green moss covering the dormant boulders. He might have supposed that he'd just been somehow transported to a more southerly range except that - the air felt different, somehow. Unfamiliar. It tasted like some substance not of his own world, haunting and elusive and full of a deep, primal magic that was beyond human understanding -   
  
He was somewhere not in either the Muggle or magical worlds that he'd become so familiar with. He was - elsewhere.  
  
Harry felt a deep shiver of apprehension run down his spine.  
  
Which was only amplified to unbearable intensity when the air before him seemed to suddenly swirl in complex rings of light, as if something was disturbing it, then abruptly condensed into a solid form.  
  
He wasn't quite sure what to call it. It was about as tall as a ten-year-old child and so thin that he could see sharp little bones sticking out prominently from it's shoulders and elbows, making it look like some kind of waif. But it's face, framed by an unruly shock of white hair was old beyond anything he could possibly imagine, a fine network of lines surrounding the eyes and mouth. And those eyes - over large in that narrow face, haunting and eerily soulful, holding echoes of a wisdom older than time and darker than evil - they seemed to capture your soul and lay it bare for everyone to see, exposing your deepest secrets and revealing your darkest fears. They hypnotized you, entrapped you. Harry took a deep, trembling breath and forced his gaze to the ground, not seeing but sensing the entity's smile of triumph at having broken his composure.  
  
It's voice was like a whisper of wind on dry leaves, soft and yet so full of meaning. You have come a long way from your home, wizard of the mortal world.  
  
Harry swallowed. He opened his mouth, closed it. Then opened it again.  
  
What - who -  
  
Laughter, soft and mocking. Don't know what I am, is that it? It moved closer, almost brushing against Harry, smiling a hidden smile. I'll tell you, Harry Potter, in token that I know so much about you. It's smile broadened. I am a zhirak, it said in the tone of someone imparting a very choice bit of information.  
  
Harry blinked. A - a what?  
  
A zhirak. It looked up at him expectantly. Harry's face was still blank.  
  
It sighed in exasperation, as if Harry should've understood immediately. A zhirak - one of the second order of demons. There are nine, you know.  
  
You're a - a demon, then?  
  
It grinned impishly at him, making Harry edge away in a sudden fit of nervousness. Oh come. Surely you know about us - all you witches and wizards have at least _some_ little bit of learning in our existence although you never bothered to figure out all there is to know - too wary in actually dealing with us, i suppose -  
  
I know what demons are!  
  
Well good. It leered irritatingly at him, then suddenly jumped up onto a boulder so that they were nose-to-nose. It lowered it's voice to scarcely more than a whisper and hissed, I know what you're looking for.  
  
Harry felt his heart contract.   
  
I know what you're looking for - or, rather, _who _you're looking for. And give up. It's hopeless.  
  
A cold surge of anger ran through him. Oh really?  
  
The zhirak smiled at him in it's most patronizing manner with the air of someone about to plunge a knife into an unsuspecting victim. It leaned in even closer and whispered confidentially, it's breath tickling his ear, He doesn't love you.  
  
And then it was gone.  
  
  
So...good, bad, irritating? Leave a review, please!!!


	2. Heartsick and Lost

slave02

Disclaimer in Part 1.  
  
Sorry this has been so long in coming out; I'm currently working on some *BIG* projects that I'm trying to get through but don't worry, this WILL be completed!!!  
  
  
Harry stood still, frozen in shock, feeling as if his heart had just been ripped out, pounded with mallets and stabbed with knives, then returned to his body to spread the pain through each and every nerve. His world had been reduced to a globe of blinding, searing pain - he couldn't escape it; nothing existed except for the heart-wrenching agony pulsing through every fiber of his being. He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes and forced them back angrily; he _would not _let himself cry. Purely and simply because it wasn't true.  
  
Of course it wasn't; it _couldn't _be.  
  
Draco _had _to love him...  
  
But if he had been mistaken all along, if that - zhirak - had been telling the truth after all and everything that had been between himself and Draco was nothing but a lie...?  
  
He didn't think he could bear it.  
  
Harry drew a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to find some sense of peace, of balance, within himself. It was considerably difficult, seeing as he had never felt so lost, so alone...he felt like he was drowning in a raging, stormy sea without any rock to cling to, any safe port to swim toward...all he was aware of was blackness, heartache, _pain, _all swirling around in the vortex of anguish that his soul had become, threatening to rise up and engulf him. He could feel something deep within him starting to give way against the tidal wave of raw emotion building up within him, something that would spill out and leave him sobbing and sobbing and sobbing...  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into tight fists as he wearily focused all his will to one end, one purpose, one aim, forcing everything else into the background.  
  
He would find the truth.  
  
No matter how long it took and how far he had to go, he would find it.   
  
And then he slowly exhaled, sealing the promise.  
  
The problem being that he was in a world completely alien to his own and he didn't have the faintest notion of where to begin.  
  
Harry drew his wand out from his robes and set it on a flat, smooth stone, sending it into a spin with a twist of his fingers. He watched it whirling around with a sort of amused detachment; it wasn't _his _decision anymore; he would simply go in whichever direction he was told to. Like a puppet. So simple, so thoughtless. It stopped its revolutions pointing to what Harry assumed passed for north here - no doubt this world had an entirely different set of compass points - and set off.  
  
He walked. Walked until the strange, diluted light of the place had leeched slowly out of the great chasm of emptiness stretching above him to be replaced by a thick, enveloping darkness broken only by eerie green fires glowing somewhere off in the distance; walked until his feet were sore and blistered, sending tiny thrills of pain up his legs with every step he took; walked until his eyes had grown so heavy that they threatened to drop shut and rob him of consciousness. But he couldn't rest now; he had to go a little further...he was vaguely aware that the terrain was sloping steadily downward and was becoming increasingly less rough; he supposed he was leaving the mountains. The realization made him feel mildly pleased. Maybe he would be able to find something in the lands beyond the rocky barrier...he stumbled slightly and fell to his knees, unable to fight the weariness rising up in him any longer. Hardly even aware of what he was doing, Harry curled himself up into a fetal position and pillowed his head on his arms, falling immediately into a dreamless sleep.  
  
So he didn't notice when the two figures appeared beside him.  
  
They were virtually indistinguishable from the surrounding blackness, nothing but denser patches of darkness shaped vaguely like humans, cloaked and hooded to hide their features. They seemed to have materialized out of the air itself, summoned to Harry by some call heard only by them for a purpose only they could understand. One stepped forward to Harry's side, kneeling over him as if peering into his soul and reading what it had to say, analyzing all of the hopes and fears and dreams that had been written there. Then it stood back up, turning to his companion as if to speak. It's voice was like a hiss of wind on the last leaves of autumn, low and sibilant.  
  
This one has far to go and much to learn.  
  
The other seemed to stir slightly, perhaps making a gesture of agreement, perhaps of impatience. But we can't help him.  
  
No, of course not. But I want to give him something. The figure reached out and put its hand over Harry's heart. A few seconds of absolute stillness passed, then a faint purple light spread out from where it was touching the skin, reaching out to envelop every inch of his body before sinking into the it, leaving nothing of its presence behind. The figure withdrew its touch, drawing back to its companion.  
  
Are you sure that was wise? He's only human...  
  
But he could be so much more. _Will _be more, once he learns to master it.  
  
The other one seemed to have nothing to say to this and then they were gone, leaving Harry alone on the cold ground.  
  


* * *  
  


He was crouched on the stone floor with his hands over his head, blood from his fingertips staining the whitish hair red. Every inch of skin was bruised and lacerated, gushing out rivulets both of a deep vibrant crimson and old dried-out brown; he wished that t the pain would go away. Or that he at least had his wand. But they'd taken that away from him and left him with only his broken, tormented soul, forcing him into a state where he was weak and helpless and powerless...they could kill him if they wanted to and he wouldn't even have a chance to defend himself. And no one would bother to come and save him now; the one person that might've cared was far away, beyond his reach...  
  
The door creaked open and he pushed himself into the corner but it was a futile gesture, harsh hands were grabbing him and tearing him along, forcing him into a cell even deeper underground. He fell onto his hands and knees, shaking, wondering dully what would happen now. He could hear the rustle of robes as someone nearby got to their feet, could feel footsteps coming closer. He flinched away but someone seized his wrist and yanked him roughly to his feet.  
  
_  
  
_He reeled slightly from the impact of the spell, his mind fogged over and unable to process anything. Something was pushing him, shoving his unresisting body into some kind of hole that sucked him down into its unfathomable depths, devouring him whole. His last conscious thought before he was claimed by the blackness rising up within him was that he wished he knew who he was.  
  
  
I'm not sure when the next part will be out, probably not for a while. But look for the prolouge to Master and Servant very soon, that's coming along quiet nicely and will mark the beginning of the MaS rewrite...


End file.
